Afterglow
by Midnight Strike
Summary: AU. What rises in the hour of deepening twilight.
1. How It Began

**Afterglow**

_What rises in the hour of deepening twilight._

**Rating:** M. Violence and sex.

**Summary:** AU. When presented with the immense task of gathering the army to face the coming horde, the Grey Warden says _no_.

**A/N: **The italicized words at the beginning of each chapter are usually from song lyrics, and I will compile a list of credits for them at the end of the fic.

--

**Chapter 1: How It Began**

_We were drawn from the weeds  
We were brave like soldiers  
Falling down under the pale moonlight_

--

Spring at Highever smelled of dirt and things growing. Terrell once told me that if I put my ear to the ground I could hear the sound of grass popping up from the earth as they grew. The warm soil tickled my skin when I willingly pressed half of my face against it, eager for the evidence of this new knowledge. I waited, because he said it took some time for the grass to grow and for your ears to become accustomed to such a tiny, insignificant noise. Straining to catch the slightest sound, I heard nothing but the shuffles of people moving in the courtyard in the distance. There were knights with their swords ringing when they brought them against each other. The door that led into the kitchen swung open and closed as the morning deliveries were made.

I felt the boot at my backside and realized that Terrell, who had crouched at my side when he told me of this discovery, had scrambled up and kicked my rump swiftly. Already off balance by half of my body sticking up in the air, I swiftly toppled over face first into Nan's vegetable patch.

I spat out mouthfuls of dirt as I scrambled up, yelling. "That is a nasty trick, Terrell Winder!" My hands were already grasping at whatever I could, a stone or a branch. I threw a clump of dirt at his back, but he was already halfway down the path, laughing, as he sang some made up song about Elika being a _twit_ and a girl at that.

I chased after him the best I could, at five years old and frustratingly short for my age. The taller Terrell quickly outpaced me to run into the kennels, where Father had strictly forbidden me from entering and where the page was one of the kennel-master's young helpers.

I was Elika Cousland, daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, descendent of the warrior Haelia who removed the werewolf threat from Ferelden. I was also furious as I spun around, running to tell Nan or even better yet, the kennel-master who thought that his young charge was cleaning out the dog beds. Nan was already there, scolding me and telling that I had scuffed up the orderly rows of her vegetable garden better than any rabbit. I couldn't get a word in as she lectured me on the behavior of young ladies and my awful appearance of loose braids and a dirty dress, when there were guests at the castle and how the teyrna was going to be displeased.

That was how I looked, with my hair mussed and scowling, when I first met Roddy.

--

"I heard rumors, my lady, that you are to be betrothed next summer." He stood there in full armor at the doorway into the atrium, with his helm under his arm and his hair tousled so that one strand of it fell over his eyes. I put aside the book on a brief record of the Exalted Marches and rose to greet him. The ladies that were sitting beside me, embroidering quietly, were sent off with a nod.

"And I understand," I said, "That congratulations are in order."

That morning I had stood in the back of the crowd in the great hall, having slipped in through a side door. My father stood on the dais in his ceremonial armor, with his trusted advisors, knights and the banners of the arls and bannorns loyal to the Couslands behind him. There was another row of knights below them, on one knee with heads down, silent prayers moving their lips.

The Revered Mother walked down the centre of the hall, clad in the robes that were symbols of her noble duty. Behind her, a chantry sister followed. She carried a bowl of scented water with rose petals floating on the surface. That water was sprinkled over the heads of the would-be knights while the Revered Mother bestowed the blessing. The teyrn of Highever was next and he used the flat edge of a blade to initiate the new members of the order. _Do you so swear allegiance to Highever…_

Roddy was one of those knights, easily distinguished by the others due to the color of his hair. It was his hair that stood out so clearly to me that day of our first meeting.

--

He came to the castle as a page like Terrell and made an impression like any page accepted at Highever every other spring. They were lined up and shaking in their shoes as the knights inspected them as they were informed of who they were to serve under for the next ten years. I had to stand there beside mother, represent the Couslands, as she smiled and nodded at each young boy in turn, while Gemma passed them the folded clothes that would be their page uniforms. Fergus was made a squire this last winter, and he stood beside his knight, Ser Aubrey, as they spoke to a boy with a shining mop of red hair and fairer skin than most girls.

I thought it was deathly unfair that Fergus got to be a page and a squire and eventually Father's second, while I was not allowed to run around and wave swords at my age or go into the kennels. This pale and thin looking boy was going to be Ser Aubrey's page and allowed to do all the things that I wasn't allowed to do. When my father was talking with some knight and mother was smiling at the lady beside him and Fergus was trying to look older and well-behaved, I went up to Roderick Gilmore and kicked him as hard as I could in the shin. Before he could react, I charged him by ducking down and curling my hand into fists. It was easy when he was down to leap on top of him then and start to pummel away at his body.

He sported a lovely dark bruise at his right eye and a fat lip when they finally pulled me off of him. "See," I announced triumphantly in mother's arms, challenging the boy who looked a bit stunned. "He lost to a _girl_. So I should be able to take his spot."

He never really had a chance, after that.

--

"I looked for you," he said, tight-lipped. If it were anyone else, it would have sounded petulant. But Squire, no _Ser_ Gilmore was known for his seriousness and devotion. He prayed in the Chantry for a full two days previous to undertaking his vows.

"Did you think I would miss it?" I laughed. I couldn't help myself. I had always laughed at his serious nature and his imperviousness to jokes made it all the funnier.

But there were furrows between his brows, and I knew it caused him great worry that my presence was not at one of the most significant events that would mark his life. It was all that he worked towards, being a knight. He would not admit his worry aloud, and would instead pretend his irritation was due to another factor – that of my impending betrothal.

"You-" He let out a breath, furious and annoyed and relieved.

"I hid in the back, behind a tapestry," I told him. "And yes, I paid attention."

"Good." He sighed. "Did I look at all…nervous?"

"Of course you did, nervous and fretting and ridiculous as always."

--

Father had found that particular episode of mine against the poor young page greatly amusing and finally gave me permission to become a page myself. Mother said since I was so upset at being born a girl that I should keep my braids as a reminder that the Maker made each of us with a special purpose, even when I complained that the boys tugged at them and why couldn't I just have them chopped off already.

Roddy and I spent a lot of time together during those long childhoods playing at knights and training to be them. I was made one of the Ser Aubrey's charges, much to Fergus' fury. He didn't want his little sister underfoot and I only wanted to please him so that he wouldn't tattle on me to Father. I was on my best behavior, whatever that meant to a young willful girl who had nannies to braid her hair and servants to cater to her whims since birth.

Roddy was weary of me for months after, not that I could blame him. The other pages poked fun at his red hair and fair skin. The squires told him to put on a dress and dance for the teyrna since he was her daughter's favorite toy. They teased him cruelly and the only companion he really had was a girl who could finally receive the page training that she so coveted, and knew that it was due to his misfortune so that she was in debt to him in a way. After weeks of mumbled one word replies or even silence, he relented and finally began to speak to me.

He was the second eldest son of a farm just south of Highever. He told me it was a great honor that he was chosen to be a page of one of the knights loyal to the Cousland arms. At first he looked at everything wide-eyed and mouth agape, and I would nudge him to shut it when one of the knights walked by, lest someone notice that he was a fool. Eventually the grandeur of the castle became a customary sight and the jests of the pages turned to other targets, for Roddy was a devout believer in the Maker and the Chantry even at that young age, and had better things to do with his time than react to the taunts of other boys. It was easier to pick on smaller prey who fought back and screamed like myself.

--

"No, don't _go._" I placed a hand on his shoulder as he turned to leave. "You looked very…handsome."

"Handsome," he repeated, eyes flashing. "You jest, lady."

"What did you want me to say?" I said coyly. "That you stood like the grandest knight of all in your polished armor, ready for adventures and rescues of beautiful maidens, who would swoon, their dresses torn, throwing themselves at you with their _heaving bosoms_…"

"Maker's _breath,_ Elika. Stop it." Two bright spots of red that could be called a blush appeared on his cheeks.

--

His pale complexion was a great burden to him. For his face, only the tips of his ears burned, but whenever he had to disrobe for sparring lessons, the harsh sun would light his skin on fire and he would be wretchedly burnt for days. I was the one who had to put the ointment from the healer on his back while he twitched and groaned from the pain. It was too embarrassing for a knight-in-training to be seen sunburnt and complaining, so this was done in secret. Even for Roddy, who was usually oblivious to _appearances_, was adamant in keeping this to only the two of us. There were places to hide even close to the busy castle. We would be alone in the kennel lofts, where I had set up an agreement with Master Hastings for a corner of my own.

Memories of my childhood were tangled up with him, with running after Fergus, with Nan who was growing tired of running after me in her old age. Nan was finally retired to the kitchen when I became a squire, but never forgot to remind me that I was put on this earth to punish her. Father was always away on the king's business, but he would always tell the household to take care of his girl, which I translated to getting whatever I wanted. Mother was busy running the household and entertaining the guests that always crowded the dining hall, but she was the first one who gave me the gift of bow and arrow. She resigned herself to the fact that her daughter would not be the soft thing that she thought appropriate for a nobleman's wife, so she made Fergus marry one.

I knew how to recite Ferelden history and learned how to manage household accounts. I was better at scholarly pursuits than Fergus, and I knew I was our tutor's best pupil, which irked my brother to no end when we were younger. As the years went on, we shed our younger skins, our childhoods of ignorance and games with wooden swords. He grew up and married and became responsible for Highever, with father spending most of the year in councils with the new king of Ferelden. His marriage and the responsibilities that he had brought us closer, and he would often knock on the door to my chamber, saying _Little sis, two heads are better than one_, and come in with his arm filled with scrolls and books. Oriana, his wife, was off in their rooms rocking their newly born babe to sleep, and I would sit with Fergus talking about the squabbles between banns or petitions of the villagers.

--

"So tell me," I said, after he had retreated out of his prickly annoyance at my remarks meant to tease him. "Which fat arl has asked for my hand this time."

His expression turned cool at the question, and he turned his head to regard an elaborately embroidered circle that contained the scene of a pious Andraste, praying to the maker on her knees while flames burned all around her. "It was a northern Bannorn," he said softly. "I overheard your father talking to Bann Roger, who has a son you must remember."

I felt my eyes open so wide it was a wonder my eyeballs didn't fall out. "You don't mean _Terrell._" The brat who pulled my braids and was my biggest tormentor while he was housed at the castle, until the knight that was his master was sent off to his native bannorn.

He nodded. We had been through this before. Rendon Howe, the Arl of Amaranthine and Father's good friend called me Bryce's little spitfire, said that I was going to give any man a challenge. There were noble sons who would be banns, their fathers or mothers attempting to arrange matches between them and the daughter of the Teyrn. Father was second only to the king, Fergus said proudly, and his advice carried weight. _We would find you a good match, _he promised. The last time he mentioned that I only laughed at him and said he needed my help with his figures, see here was one column that he added wrong. Fergus does not disagree.

"I believe that Bann Roger has sent his son in search of you since you were nowhere to be found at the feast," Roddy's voice brought me back to the present, where there was yet another marriage proposal that Mother would want to conclude and I wanted to sever the possibilities.

--

I had slipped away just as quietly when the knighting ceremonies were wrapped up and the feast was to begin. There would be roasted suckling pig cooked on the spit and plump chickens with their insides stuffed with dates and almond rice. The tables would be almost bowed at the centre with the weight they carried, dishes of boar's leg and steamed trout, twenty pies filled with tart fruit plucked from the bushes. I already snuck into the kitchens to steal a slice of pie and a plate of morsels from Nan, who was as disapproving as always and told me to keep my mabari out of the larder.

I had begged for a mabari for my thirteenth summer, when Fergus was permitted to visit Denerim with father for the first time. Master Hastings, who ran the kennels with a hawk's eye attention to detail, always had a soft spot for me since he said I reminded him of his daughter. Ayla was taken away from him to the Circle Tower at the age of six, and his wife had passed only a year later from a wasting disease that had struck the castle that season. Master Hastings was always slipping me sweets and patting me on the head with his large hands, telling me of the new pups that had just been born and would I like to see them. I gained a mabari of my own that summer, imprinted to follow me as long as he lived. I called him Eirik at Roddy's suggestion, liking the way that sounded. Eirik and Elika, a warhound and a girl who dreamed of being a warrior maiden.


	2. Love in Chains

**Chapter 2: Love in Chains**

_You were holding me  
Like someone broken  
And I couldn't tell you but I'm telling you now_

--

The Harvest always brought Roddy back to me, from his travels with Ser Aubrey throughout the villages under the protection of Highever. I had him during the fall and the winters, while during the spring and summers I learned about the nobility and the complexities of Ferelden politics. I was not permitted to become a knight, because of _appearances_ again, having a _daughter_ serve under the Cousland banner. I was expected to be on my back and heavy with child by my eighteenth summer.

There were also other barriers to becoming a knight, that daggers and archery and being light on your feet was more befitting of a woman fighter. I could not pick up a steel sword when the boys were beginning to fill out their forms, being at a disadvantage. There were many disadvantages to being a woman, but advantages too, I realized, as I learned the art of fighting with the daggers that I protested against originally, wanting so much to just be another boy. I was neither knight nor boy, but I became a rogue, the student of Ser Peter, one of the rare knights of the trade, who started out as a thief in Denerim and saved the life of Ser Aubrey once upon a time. He was a thin man who could nimbly scale any wall and who had the strength to wield two waraxes at once. I learned from him I could be much swifter than a man fatigued by heavy armor and burdened with a greatsword. Being able to counter great blows from a battleaxe or fend off mace and shield did not help me in Mother's scheming, her hopes of making a great match.

I was seventeen and the months were slipping away from me, the expectations and the responsibilities that I understood very well, because Fergus has drilled them into my head. I prayed many times to the Maker, that he would look kindly on me and change my fate, this direction that I seemed to be heading for. The Revered Mother thought I was too wild for my upbringing and once suggested that I become a chantry sister, but my mother pointed out what sorts of trouble I caused amidst the _boys_ and that to unleash me into the ranks of the gentle sisters would be unfair.

--

"You don't mean to _hide_ in the lofts," Roddy scoffed as we climbed the ladder to the top of the kennels. It was what I had planned on doing, since he knew me too well. This was a place where the pups were kept when they were few days old, where the ground was covered with layers of sweet smelling hay. I had the far corner to myself, where I had set up a table, chairs, and a blanket for times when I felt like a nap was a good choice.

"And where is your formidable hound at this time?" He looked around for a great body to charge of the darkness and try to knock him over. Eirik thought it was a wonderful game, this one called Take Down the Knight. A younger Roddy had often been knocked down with a great clang and landed in a sprawl in full armor, and Fergus would roar with laughter, saying that it was excellent training for battle.

"Probably in the kitchens. Nan's assistants like to slip him scraps." Nan also thought the dog was a menace, not knowing that it was her elven assistants that lure him to the kitchens with bones and bits of beef, just for the sight of their stern mistress running around trying to shoo him off.

"Glad to see that hasn't changed." He sat down heavily with a sigh, dropping the helm into the hay. He removed his gauntlets and unstrapped the heavy steel that protected his arms. I took them from him and placed them in the corner, while he removed the breastplate and set that aside as well.

It was difficult not to wear anything made of steel and not be sweating underneath with the strenuous task. He then had to stand in the hall for hours for the rites, endure the feast, the dining hall stuffed to capacity and the fires at full roar. The shirt clung to his skin, to the broad shoulders and the slim waist. His arms were heavy with muscle, like they had to be, being able to wield sword and shield and keep moving. He unwound the straps that were pulled through a loop that kept the greaves attached to his thigh and his lower leg.

"The girls ask after you, you know," I smiled. The servants gossiped in the halls, while working in the kitchen, and the ladies-in-waiting often chatted as they embroidered. "They talk about you choosing a wife, for the upcoming festival." Knights were allowed to marry, given title and lands of their own. I knew that father would reward him for his loyal service, the glowing accolades of Ser Aubrey for his squire.

"Do they?" He stood up, muscle rippling and I felt my heart catch for a second. I was not _blind_, not at all. For all they said that I was a ferocious woman, ferocious and cold, when I punched Brom in the face for trying to sneak a kiss after the boys made bets with a few coppers. They said I was a woman playing at being a man, with a man's taste for blood and sport, a man's taste in the gentler sex.

"I'm glad to see you had not forgotten about me, since I've been away," he murmured, finally able to pull me close to him, what I had been waiting for all this time, for the next harvest, the harvest after that. Our hands were tangled together, fingers linked. _Joined. _

"Was I that obvious?" Our lips met, just a brush against each other, a moth's wing. It was all of our childish barbs, sniping at each other with words, our familiar and aching distance.

"When you are jealous, lady, it means you missed me." He chuckled, the sound sending tingles through my now too warm body. My hands were emptied and clutching at nothing when he let go of them, but he ran his fingers down my side, made me shiver.

"I don't know what you-" He kissed me again, and I was effectively silenced. Our bodies remembered each other's touch, my hands gripping and recalling the rise of his back that I memorized the last time we parted. My mouth remembered the taste of him. Remembered –

--

I was fifteen and newly introduced to the feelings that develop between women and men. This harvest brought home a different man, one bearing _gifts_. A gift of wildflowers and a squire's hesitant admission. _Elika, I have a confession…_my full name meant something _serious_. The realization that I felt the same, that this restless, uncertain worry that had gnawed at me the months without him, and the constant reminders of his presence.

It was months after and deep into winter when the latest news arrived. "Mother means to marry me off to the Bann of Rainesfere," I raged. "She is talking to the Arl of Redcliffe, to arrange a _meeting._"

"Bann Teagan?" He raised a brow. "He is a kind man, they say. His lands are the richest of-"

"Do you think I _care _about his lands?" I paced in the small library. "Do you think I want to be married to some…some nobleman with soft hands who has no idea which end of a sword to hold?"

"Bann Teagan," Roddy explained patiently, "Fought at the battle of-"

"This is not what I want," I said, exasperated.

"This would be a good match," he said.

"Yes, it would be," I interrupted and then repeated what Fergus had said to me earlier. "Arl Eamon has not always seen eye-to-eye with father, and to further strengthen the ties between Highever and Redcliffe…" I couldn't even finish the words.

"A good match," I said again. To be the wife of a bann, to have an estate to run of my own, to have a family. It would be any girl's dream. To have servants and cooks to order about. An easy and spoiled life.

"Sometimes we do not always get what we want." I looked up, startled, to hear the emotion in his voice, but he went on, the words low and spoken in a rush. "Sometimes, we must keep to our holy vows to the Maker, to walk only the places that He bid us, even though our feet take us another direction."

"Roddy…" I put a hand on his arm, hesitant.

"Do you think I want to see you betrothed to a bann?" He brushed off my arm, the angriest I had ever seen him. The extent of his fury was in the great red blotches on his neck and his face. "Do you think I want to see you in your wedding finery, on the arm of another man?"

I was hurt that he thought I asked for this, that he believed me a liar for the feelings that I bared only few months ago. We only hurt those we love most, so I kissed him with the rage that I felt that our futures were not within our own grasp, that our choices were already made, the curious alignment of stars and the patterns that dictated our fates.

With whispers in the dark, we led each other and tripped over each other's feet as we made our way out into the frozen winter, into the warm kennels, where there were sounds of pups whining in the darkness, shuffling paws and quiet snorts. With fevered passion, there was a shedding of clothes, hot breath against arched neck. His heavy body on mine, but then retreating, drawing away, my body curling on itself from the lost warmth.

"We shouldn't…" He sounded strangled, breathing heavily. "Who _you _are, Lia, we shouldn't…"

"I could marry Bann Teagan," I said fiercely, tugged at him with selfish words, words meant to be cruel, to cut. "With _titles_ and a _manor_ and-"

We made our own constellations that night, with hungry hands and clumsy limbs, an impromptu first time of false starts and finishes, but we could become perfect, if they let us.

--

"Andraste's flaming sword!" There was a voice above us and I was underneath my knight's body, looking out towards the entrance of my make-shift haven. There was Terrell. Older and even taller still, but it was still Terrell, and I was naked and trapped underneath Roddy, who was trying very valiantly to hide my body from view while shielding parts of himself as well.

"Get out," I said with bared teeth, with the best glare that I could manage while naked and caught in bedsport by a man who could be my betrothed while under a man who most decidedly was not.

"Elika." Terrell choked out my name, having turned almost crimson. It was not the reunion after many years with Terrell that I imagined, not that I gave any thought to the second Winder after he left and made the castle a more pleasant place to live in.

"Lia…" came the low, warning tone of the man beside me, the one who knew me well, reminding that this man was a nobleman's son and not someone I could tear apart with my bare hands.

"I won't say it again, Terrell Winder," I said, and all modesty left me as I pushed Roddy aside and stood up from the hay furious and spitting. "I will stomp you like I did five summers ago, and I'll make sure to knock some more teeth out of that pretty face this time." Terrell flew out of there, having grown wings in a split second.

--

It was a scandal. An embellished scandal that grew like a huge beast. The rumor was that I pulled a knife on the bann's son, pressed him against the wall and threatened to gut him if he told. Mother was horrified, Father not knowing what to think of his little girl who he still thought was a young child playing in the dirt, while Fergus found all of this greatly hysterical and added his own embellishments as well to the story repeated often until the Autumn Festival.

They weren't quite sure what to do with Roddy, having him pledged as a Cousland knight just that morning. I defended him by taking the blame, knowing full well that my father would promise a talk later that never comes and Mother would do her best to fend off all of the _concerned letters_ that came in, inquiring after the virtue of the youngest Cousland.

He was my knight, sent by whatever benevolent spirit that watched over us. And _Maker_, I would move heaven and earth to keep him.


	3. A Blight Approaches

**Chapter 3: A Blight Approaches**

_Childhood living it's easy to do  
The things that you wanted, well I bought them for you  
Graceless lady, you know who I am  
You know I can't let you just slide through my hands_

--

"You asked for me, brother?" Fergus looked up from the documents piled on his desk when I entered the room. With a dip of the quill in ink, he scribbled another note on the edge of a scrap of vellum. He inclined his head towards the chair in front of his desk, and I sat, arms crossed, leaning back in a comfortable position. Eirik had padded into the room behind me, and sat down at my side with a sigh, put his head on his massive paws.

"The last letter that I received from Father was, as you know, several days ago," he said when he finally put his notes aside. It was the eve before the autumn festival, and there were many arrangements to be made for the festivities tomorrow. I had to spend most of the day alongside Mother in our final fittings for the gowns we must wear tomorrow. "I have not had the time to read it until now, but there was a note in it, specifically relating to you."

There was something about the tone of his voice that I did not like, and I was weary. Father usually returned from court in time for the Highever festivities, but this year he was in Amaranthine with Arl Howe and would return later in the festival. I felt my stomach tighten in apprehension or worry.

"As you know, Bann Roger was one of the nobles who accompanied him to Amaranthine," Fergus went on. "He mentioned your earlier _indiscretion._"

I felt the tension ease. The fool nobleman and his dreams of rising in the ranks of Father's advisors. He hoped to use his children as pawns. "And what does Bann Roger have to say about that?"

"He said that his son could be gracious and over-look your…other qualities, and the offer of a betrothal still stands." My brother watched my face, with the corners of his mouth curved up.

Anger coiled inside of me like a fist, ready to strike, but Fergus was not the intended target. This anger was intended for Terrell, that sniveling man who spread the rumor, that I was less than _chaste, _the insinuation that I was spoiled goods, as if I was some ware on display in the market.

"What would you have me do?" I asked. "Accept this proposal?"

"He will be here tomorrow at the festival, and you may discuss the possibilities of further arrangements." He gave me an amused little smile, knowing how this would make me react.

"What? He is coming?" I leaned forward then, annoyed at this knowledge. "You are joking."

"Why do you think Mother strictly forbade you from entering the tournament?" He chuckled. Mother had indeed told me that I was to be the one to hand out the trophies for the winners of the tournament, an honor that was been her role as the Teyrna of Highever. _You are seventeen, after-all, ready for these duties of nobility. _

"It does not surprise me that Mother knew," I said dully and reached for Eirik to scratch him behind the ears. The familiar feel of his fur gave me comfort and he gave a low whine in appreciation. His ears flicked then, and I felt the shift in his body, as Fergus stood up, greeting someone who had entered the room. I turned and stood as well when I saw it was Mother, who had caught my last statement.

"So glum, Elika," she commented. "What was it that I knew that displeased you so?"

I did not answer, choosing childish petulance, the role that I easily slipped into in front of my parents. It was Fergus who spoke for me.

"Terrell Winder," he explained, and needed only those two words for Mother to understand.

"My daughter…" She sighed, like she often did when she talked about this topic. "You know that I do not do these things with the intention of making you unhappy. Sit, both of you. We need to talk, the three of us"

--

It was the same lines, the same repetitions. I knew I needed to make a good match. Fergus would eventually inherit the title of Teyrn, and I would gain my own title through my marriage to another. I would marry an arl or a bann or one of their sons who would inherit the estate. It may be one of the nobles loyal to Father, or it may be one who he required an alliance with.

"I did not want to tell you this, but…I had hoped to give you a fond memory with Ser Gilmore," Mother informed me, and it was a revelation that was new, one that inserted itself in the oft-repeated tug and pull of our conversations. It stunned me that Mother knew of my relationship with Roddy, and I sat there, slack-jawed for a moment, trying to find a fitting response.

Fergus laughed, a sound that irritated me further in the mood I was in. "Did you think, little sister, that you and Roddy hid your feelings from the world? It was only a matter of time until we all saw you glowing and a woman in love." The last three words had a teasing emphasis, a slow drawl. I wanted to hit him.

"Perhaps it was foolish of me to give you this," Mother rubbed her eyes with a hand. "Perhaps I gave you too long of a childhood, let you run wild." _Like others have said, _was the implication.

"We taught you pride, Elika. Pride and honor and duty, as befitting a Cousland." Her voice was stern when she went on, the tone that she usually reserved for clumsy servants or disobedient guards. "But we also taught you to be willful and impetuous, and we let this go on for longer than appropriate. I wanted Fergus here for this, so that the two of you cannot plot and protect each other, the way you have always done since you were children."

My mother wore many faces. She had one for court, one for Father, one for the servants, and one for us. Fergus and I exchanged looks. He looked worried and I felt weary of what sort of terms Mother will impose next.

"Your dalliance with him will end as of this moment. No more romps in the hay, no more sneaking out of the castle at late hours. If you do not do something about this matter between you and Roderick, then I will interfere," she concluded, the warning that the interference will not be pleasant. Mother ruled the household with a loose fist, and when it closed, it crushed.

I thought it would be appropriate at this time to burst into tears or throw a tantrum, as befitting a foolhardy and spoiled noblewoman she believed me to be. However, I could not deny those names, for I was her daughter and she knew me well.

I may not wear the muzzle, but I followed the leash.

--

Roddy and I behaved ourselves in front of everyone in the castle after our scene with Terrell. We were only seen at the appropriate places. We passed each other in the hall and he would call me lady and I would call him ser. The servants watched eagerly in these moments, greedy for any gossip. They were visibly disappointed at these moments, for we did not engage in any passionate embraces, even though the idea has crossed my mind more than once. When the presence of the family was required at the great hall, I made sure that I was positioned on the dais, carrying out the proper duties of the daughter of the teyrn. Mother was happy indeed, positioning me this way and that, dressing me up in all sorts of outfits that I usually refused to wear, so that I was the appropriate chastised daughter.

After the talk with Mother and Fergus in the evening, I could only find Roddy the following morning, preparing for the tournament that would run for two days. I tied a ribbon on his sleeve, to show that he had my support and affection. I wore a ribbon in my hair to match the token. It was the only form of rebellion I had left, one that Mother would allow and disapprove of.

"I have to speak to you afterwards," I told him, the words heavy on my heart. He nodded, showed he understood.

I sat on the shaded platform that had been erected for the family, the best view of the tournament ring below. There were cheers and jeers, bets laid down for the knight who would strike the final blow. I had only eyes for one man. Roddy was deadly and powerful, showed his focus and training, as he took down one knight after another. I wanted to be in the fight, my fingers and legs itched with the need to meet and counter strikes in battle. I wanted to see if I could best the other knights that I grew up with, if my skills in the practice ring extended to the one fought for trophies and acknowledgement, _real_ sport.

Ser Yelan, a seasoned warrior, was the champion, beating Roddy in three grueling rounds, youth against experience. It was a feigned sidestep that tricked him, made him lunge forward with the sword, but too slow, since a shield came up to meet his arm and a sweep just so landed the knight on his back, tip pointed at his throat. The older knight reached down for the younger and pulled him up, gave two great pats on his back, and the crowd roared, approved of the victory.

I kissed Ser Yelen on both cheeks and presented him with the well-crafted sword, his prize. I kissed Roddy on the forehead as he knelt in front of me, and the crowd looked on with great amusement and raucous laughter. There were even some calls of _what celebration do you have planned for her later, ser knight?_ Since my mother stood at my side, the shouted comments were no lewder than that, which I was thankful of. I saw her frown at the ribbon wound around his arm, but there was no comment.

--

After the tournament ended, the sunset bloomed in the western sky. The bonfires were started and the torches lit, the food brought outside where the scent of smoke and crackling meats suffused the air. There were goblets overflowing with wine, tables upon tables of food from the plentiful harvest. It was a good year for Highever, for the northern winds were fickle with what they brought. Sometimes a slow and lingering summer led to a harvest cut short by frost. Other times a lengthy autumn spilled ripe fruits and bushels of grain. Fiddlers and harpists accompanied the feast, so that it was a clash of senses.

I danced with little Oren, my nephew, around the bonfire, while he giggled and waved his hands. I was always uneasy with children, since they were soft and breakable and most times their mothers (namely Oriana) did not approve of me spending time with them. I figured I had plenty of time to spend the rest of my life with my own children, so I did not waste my time with the young ones who ran about the castle just like I used to.

Fergus claimed me for the next dance, then Ser Aubrey, then others. I was not a graceful dancer like Oriana or a stately dancer like Mother, I only knew the basic steps, when not to trip over my own feet although I stepped on plenty. At least the men were gracious enough not to complain. Then Roddy was there, extending his hand, the firelight flickering across his face, serious and questioning. I caught his fingers with mine, just like time and time before, the ache inside of me. It was to be our last night, to be relegated to _fond memory, _a common tryst.

I let go of him, my curtsey met with a bow. We made circular steps, hands meeting again. The music on the fiddle picked up, and we were to skip and turn in the circle, women with the swish of the hem of their skirts, men to lead and accompany. Roddy's face as he watched me, expression tender and severe, all at once. The circle, spinning round and round.

I stumbled and spun out, almost fell, but righted myself as I moved forward again. It was too much for me, Mother's expectations, her reminders echoing in my mind, and I ran away into the night.

--

We remained within view of the gathering around the bonfire, for Mother had her servant waiting, to touch my arm as a reminder. I knew then that she had given me this last chance, before I would be presented towards whatever future that awaited me. I plopped myself unceremoniously down on a pile of leaves, and Roddy followed suit. A chill was in the air as the evening deepened, winter whispers. It was silence for a while, and he was the one who spoke first.

"I have…something for you." He shuffled for a moment, digging in a pocket until he came up with something round and dark in his curved palm. He tipped his hand until it rolled and dropped into my waiting one. The surface felt smooth and polished with great care.

"I know you have no need of baubles, and I was about to get you a necklace or jewels, but I saw this and thought it would be appropriate…"

I wasn't sure what he had gotten me. A round black stone? Until I peered closer, turned it this way and that to catch the light, and saw that tiny pinpricks had been imprinted upon it with a careful hand. There were lines here and there, having been drawn into familiar constellations.

"Thank…you, Roddy." My voice caught. It was one of our pastimes, sneaking out of the castle to climb trees, the nights when the skies were clear, the clouds blown to the west. It wasn't just about his body and my body, what that union could bring us. It was about being not-Elika, defiant and ferocious and having to prove to everyone she was more than a girl playing with knives. It was about not-Roddy, a simple boy from a farm who prayed each night to the Maker, for his thoughts to be pure and his way clear. It was about growing up together, about the sleepless hours running in a secret hushed world where we pretended it was just the two of us, towards a place that didn't exist on this earth.

"The Maker put them in the heavens, to guide and to remind us of His presence, that if we are faithful and do not stray, we will one day walk in the Golden City." It was an unusual occasion, with him having more words than I.

"There will not be many occasions in the future, Lia…will there?" He asked gently. "For me to bring you gifts." If _any _occasion, at all, was the unspoken thought.

"No," I shook my head then, and let a few tears fall, turned my face away so he would not see them.

"The Maker also put them there, so they can remind me of you." His breath was against my face as he pressed his cheek to my head, just the slightest touch, and I let myself shudder, feeling as if someone had reached in my chest and _pulled. _

I fumbled in the dark to find his fingers, laced mine with his. That touch meant more to me than any carnal pleasure of the body, to have Roddy breathe beside me, his head next to mine. I had no more clever words, no more brash protests. He knew, like I did, that speaking would be a waste of breath, that we could talk to each other in the future, make meaningless sounds, but it wouldn't be like this.

"Elika!" I heard the voices calling in the distance. "Lady Elika!"

I dropped his hand or he let go of mine, and we went towards our resigned fates, the ever watchful stars.

--

Father had returned that evening, having exhausted his men in the haste to return to Highever. The festivities were cut short, the feast having ended on a dread note. Father called a council to convene that night, but it was Fergus who announced the news.

A Blight was coming, from the south.

I did not have the chance to speak to Terrell that evening, for Highever flew her banners high and the surrounding banns heard her call.

We prepared for war.


	4. Mothers and Daughters

**Chapter 4: Mothers and Daughters**

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
Love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

--

When I walked past the barracks in the early morning, the quarters were filled with the sounds of men going about their preparations. There were swords being sharpened, armor being beaten flat with a hammer, and men talking, laughing, coughing. The castle ranks has swelled over the past three days to a great number, with the cooks kept busy in the kitchen for the entire day from sunrise until sunset. I could not walk past a doorway without someone bowing and saying _lady_ or step into a hall without a messenger running past me, intent on their task. We all had our roles and our places. I was relegated to the task of working alongside Master Hastings and Eirik, to prepare the mabaris in our kennels for the approaching march. The air was filled with the sense of excitement and nervousness, ready for action whenever the king calls.

We were knee-deep in pups half-grown, checking their eyes and their ears for signs of ticks or other diseases. Our mabaris had just recovered from a severe bout of kennel cough the previous spring, and the servants were vigilant for signs of wheezing or unusual fatigue. Eirik was there nuzzling pups or growling them into submission, his energy high as he butted the smaller dogs around easily. Some of the bitches regarded him wearily, for breeding season has passed and they were not in heat. They were skittish around dominant males, and there were tails flicked or head ducked down low, their own forms of communication.

Master Hastings sent me with the figures and names of the dogs that Father requested for the war council. Arl Howe had arrived the previous night, with a lesser number of men than expected, which was a relief to Nan, when I spoke to her briefly and she shooed me out of the busy kitchen. It was said that his men were delayed on the road, and he was meeting with Father in the great hall.

I threw open the doors to the room and the sound was thunderous through the space, echoed off the ancient stone walls. The few men inside were spread sparsely throughout, looked like scattered toys in the distance. Father was speaking to a man I recognized, the Arl of Amaranthine, who was a frequent guest at our home. I held back for a moment for them to finish speaking, a discussion about troops and the missing men. Father noticed me a moment later, waved me over to where they stood in front of the fire.

"What do you have there, Elika?" He saw the vellum in my hand.

"Here are the figures that you requested, Father." I handed it to him and he skimmed quickly over the inked numbers.

"My thanks," Father said, rolling the vellum and placing it in a pocket. "I trust that you will be in charge of the castle with your Mother when I am gone."

I nodded. Only a token force would remain at Highever, and I knew that the responsibility was a great one. We will need to protect and defend our people while the majority of our warriors were at Ostagar. There was no need for me there, for I was to be a wife and mother, and I had no place on the battlefield. These were bitter thoughts.

"Ah, Rendon, you remember my daughter." Father introduced me to the Arl.

The Arl of Amaranthine looked me over once, with the calculating expression of most nobles when they assessed another. It was important in the game of survival in the circles of nobility to know who could be bought, who could be trusted, and who could be used. I hated the scrutiny, the need to be kept under constant watch. It was not a dance that I performed well.

"She has turned into a beautiful woman," Arl Howe said with a smile.

"Hasn't she?" Father said with pride.

"She has a fighter's grace." The man nodded. "I often wish Thomas had a similar sort of confidence about him, such spirit!" Thomas was his son, and I had only vague memories of him from years past.

His eyes narrowed as he regarded me. "It would please me, m'lady, if you would be one of our honoured guests at Amaranthine this winter. Deliliah quite looks up to you." The last memory I had of Delilah was a round girl, with a snotty pig nose. I had no doubt what sort of strings he was trying to pull, and I wished he was not as obvious.

"I've no interest in an arranged marriage with your Thomas," I said brusquely, finding no use for pretty words. My reputation was already flimsy, so I imagined nothing I said could harm its already shaky status.

"Elika!" My father exclaimed, and said immediately to Howe. "You see what I have to contend with here?"

"Such candour!" The arl just laughed. "If only everyone spoke as straightforward as she." I almost rolled my eyes, but refrained at the last moment. The door opened then, saved all of us from the awkwardness of continuing the conversation.

"And here he is!" A man walked in, dressed in battered leather armor and two blades on his back, his hair tied back in a simple style. He was no man I recognized. He inclined his head in greeting, while the three of them exchanged pleasantries. He wore no marking that was familiar to me, not the arm of Amaranthine or a mark that would distinguish the loyalty of a soldier. He was introduced as Duncan, of the Grey Wardens, and his presence here puzzled me. The Grey Wardens were a rare sight outside of their fortress, but since there was a Blight approaching from the south, I thought all of them would be there in preparation to face the darkspawn. The presence of a Grey Warden in Highever was indeed sombre news, for they only appeared amongst us during times of need.

"I wish I arrived in time for the festivities, and to bring better news," Duncan said simply. "It was gracious of the teyrna to extend an invitation."

"The Grey Wardens are always welcome in Highever," Father laughed and embraced the man warmly. There was a hint of a smile on Duncan's face when he stepped back.

"I look for recruits all over the country, our youngest and our brightest," the warden said. "But may I make mention that your daughter is one of the finest fighters that we considered, and if there is a possibility…"

He did not have a chance before Father cut him off. "You may not consider it." Father's face had changed, to something angry and unfamiliar. "Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription." His tone was a challenge, as if he dared Duncan to push him further.

"Peace, Bryce," Duncan did not lose his composure as he smiled, loosening the situation deftly. "I have an eye on one of your men, as per the teyrna's recommendations and with your approval. Ser Gilmore, I hear, almost won the tournament, and against seasoned knights who have seen true battle!" My heart turned to stone in an instance at that name, even as I puzzled over the fact that my mother would communicate with the wardens. It made sense then.

I was used to challenges in the practice ring, where I had to prove myself as a warrior-rogue, as adept as anyone of them. I could hold my own against a single opponent, to slash and parry, learning that for each battle there were never the same rules for different challengers. I knew how to use the sunlight to my advantage, to reflect some stray beam into an eye to dazzle or to weave elaborate footsteps to disguise my true intentions. These were all skills I practiced endlessly with Ser Peter, and he told me that this way of fighting was only for those willing to commit to it with staunch dedication. For one had to focus on abilities other than strength and more difficult tactics than sheer intimidation. _React split-second to a slip, to holes in their guard, the cracks of their armor. _I knew all of this training, but I was clumsy at social niceties. I did not know the art of how to cut with a careful phrase or threaten with a barbed taunt. I flew to a rage quite quickly and it was not difficult to provoke me, with Fergus always joking, calling me _a simmering pot, ready to bubble over._

I boiled then, with a white hot fury. I barely listened to the fretting comments made by Howe regarding the unexpected arrival of a warden and the appropriate protocols. I left when Father told me to, with a message for my brother. But I had someone to find first.

--

There was a brief moment in time when I thought that being stumbled upon by Terrell would prove a blessing. I would keep my love, my family, and everything held together in a patchwork, regardless of how thin the threads were tied. We would exist in a moment in time, stilled by a mage's spell. I imagined foolishly that Roddy would remain at the castle as one of Father's wards, and we would go on, like we always had. I would do whatever it took for him to remain near me, no more years separated season to season, spring to autumn. Mother and I argued deep into the night, the eve before the news of the Blight arrived: her persuasions and my stubborn counters, until she reminded me of the power she wielded as the teyrna, that she could send Roddy away into one of our farthest outposts or arrange a marriage with a lesser bann's daughter… offers that he would not or could not refuse, for a future that he could not achieve without my mother's nudge in an appropriate direction. Mother was correct, my pride bid me to choose and she forced my hand.

I was on edge when I found Mother speaking with a few nobles in the hallway, and I said all the right things, made all the right gestures, but I was barely restrained. When Mother and I were alone, I started to speak through the churning tempest that was thrashing inside of my mind.

"If you had any consideration for my happiness, you would not have sent that invitation to the Grey Wardens, " I told her, my voice rising as I continued. "You betrayed me, Mother!"

"I had forgotten that Duncan does not know the intricacies of our court," she frowned. "With the Wardens being kept separate from the nobility." It was just like Mother, to not address my accusation directly, and it made me even more furious.

"You _told me_," I spoke through gritted teeth. "You told me that if I handled it myself, that if _Ser Gilmore_ and I were able to end our...meetings, you would not punish us. I did not expect you to make him a recruit, a wandering pariah from the rest of Ferelden!"

"Daughter," She looked at me with sympathy. "Did you think it possible that I would have Roderick remain as a constant reminder to you, even when married off and away?"

"He would have been just fine at Highever, this is his home." I raged on. "I could simply remain at my estate, tending to the household, without having to travel around the country with my husband. Our paths may never cross again. He could even take a...take a…" I could not bring myself to say it. _Wife. _

Mother regarded me with a knowing gaze, her sympathy weighing on me heavily. "You close your eyes and you lower your head and you run into whichever obstacles you have in your way. This is how you resolve your confrontations, with a challenge to a duel."

"But you are a child no longer, Elika. I have to remind you time and time again, and it is time you learned your duties. Brashness and impulsivity are not traits befitting of a noble wife. You have to learn how to curb that tongue or your husband will curb it for you, and the method will not be gentle." My face stung at the insult, a reminder of how unmarriageable I was, echoes of the insults that were inflicted upon me in the days I spent with men and told how I was unlike them, how I did not belong.

"I do not wish to be crude, yet I have to be harsh with you or else you will not listen. You _cannot_ hope to marry Roderick and set up a cottage somewhere. Young love often blinds you to the realities of what you are facing. You are not fitted for a life of toil and misery, for that is what you will gain as the wife of a poor knight."

"I will join the Grey Wardens, then," I had a reckless and wild idea, placed into my mind by Duncan's earlier comment. "I will become a Grey Warden, with Roddy-"

Mother slapped me, hard and unexpectedly, and my face was thrown sideways from the force of it. I tasted blood in my mouth where my tooth had clipped the side of my cheek.

"Do not consider this foolishness," she said sharply. "Do not stoop so low for a man. Have I taught you nothing?"

I could feel the rush of blood where she struck me, coupled with the sensation of burning embarrassment at being treated like a child. I resisted the urge to touch the side of my face.

"Go then and find your brother. We will speak of this no further. It has been decided." She dismissed me by walking away, and left me standing there.

--

I did not cry when I left to find Fergus, although I wanted to. I swallowed the tears and envisioned myself as made from steel, impervious and impenetrable to human emotion. Fergus was talking with his wife and Oren, saying their goodbyes in preparation for his leaving. My goodbyes with my brother were a blur, my mind contending with other things. I knew that Fergus' presence at Ostagar would be a limited one, relegated to scouting and reconnaissance instead of facing the darkspawn in battle. We were all relieved, even Fergus himself, who admitted he would rather return to us safely than die a hero. I retired to my chamber early, knowing that he wanted more time with his wife and child.

--

The door shook as it was knocked into the wall, the hinges rattling as it swung back from the force of its opening. I woke at the sound, with the quilt half on and half off of me. The cold air rushed into the room and made me shiver at the touch of it against my bare skin. I was dressed in a plain nightshift, with my arms and legs exposed. Eirik bristled in a corner, a low growl vibrating the air. I saw only the outline of a person, features obscured by the dimness in my room, and it scared me, brought back memories of all the childhood tales of monsters from the forest stealing children from their beds. But the figure turned its head and it was just Mother, with a bow in her hand, stringing an arrow. I heard the scream of a man in agony.

"Get dressed," she ordered, composed even under duress. "Highever is under attack."


	5. A Castle Besieged

**Chapter 5: A Castle Besieged**

_So hesitation to this life I give,  
You think you might cross over._

--

The leather was cold against my skin when I tightened the armor around me. The cold matched the chill that had started to settle into my body, with my mind repeating the question: _Why Highever?_ My fingers felt large and clumsy as I attempted to tie sturdy knots and hook the loops with the correct ties. I had done this many times before, but in my nervousness and haste what was familiar became a daunting task. I slid my blades into the sheathes and quickly pulled my hair back, out of my face. The chill inside of me had turned to something else, and I felt my stomach roll as I stepped outside into the hallway after Mother. I had to steady myself with a grip on Eirik's fur. It felt like the only solid and dependable thing in the world.

_And who? _An arrow whistled its brief course before it found its target, and a man fell face forward, down at my feet. I had seen blood before, nicked a hand on a sharp edge or even stepping into the path of an axe in training. My eyes had observed dead men, those wasted by disease or simply by the course of age, their mouths opened and their gaze unseeing. But those deaths were nothing like this.

A man spun around, almost drunkenly, and I realized as he turned to his almost graceful fall that he was missing an arm. A woman was sobbing, half mad, with an arrow protruding from her stomach as she clutched at her wound. There was no laughter or joking about this, no familiar match of swords in the ring. If I stepped out of this hallway, there was no guarantee I would not be run through -

Eirik snarled and lunged forward, the sight of his bared teeth as he punctured a man's arm. The blade that was headed straight for my face missed my nose by a mere distance, and I stumbled backwards. Vomit rose towards my throat. Eirik shook his head and the man screamed, his arm hung in tatters. _A mabari's jaws could crush the head of a deer,_ Master Hastings' lessons, from a distant, unfamiliar time.

Another soldier replaced this one, and advanced towards me, face hidden by his helm. My daggers were somehow in my hands. I had pulled them without thinking. The memory of Ser Peter spoke softly in my ear, my body well-accustomed to the training of reaching up, the reverberation of steel meeting steel ringing through my arm. He had swung his longsword forward in a downward slice, hoping to split my head in half, but I met him with two weapons against one, caught the sword's edge, hooked and pulled it out of his hand. His eyes were wide as he raised his shield, attempted to bear down on me, but I met him with my body low, even as my legs shook a little at the strain.

Eirik was at my side then, and he lunged for the soft part behind the knee. The soldier crumpled, one of his legs gone, and his helm rolled away as he struck the floor. I saw his face then. Just an ordinary face, like any other knight at Highever. There was no horrible marking that labelled him _traitor, murderer, turncoat._ His eyes had gone white with panic, as Eirik jumped on his body, teeth snapping at his throat.

"Mercy!" He screeched, voice higher than normal. "Please, I beg you, mercy..." I hesitated, before striking him under the chin with the dagger hilt, and his entire body softened, the resistance gone. I signalled for Eirik to follow, as I watched Mother disappear into another door.

--

I didn't recognize them at first. It was only colors on the floor, not so uncommon. I thought it a pile of underclothes, discarded. My eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, the only illumination from the torchlight in the hallway. There were still sounds coming from a distance, wails and cries that rang in my ears, out of place in the walls of my childhood home. The strangeness of it was what made my mind slow, lacking comprehension, until I recalled the slope of nose, the curve of the mouth.

_Oriana_, I gasped, and I wasn't sure if I had spoken it aloud or not. Behind her, hidden from sight by her body, as if she had fallen in an attempt to protect him. _Oren. _My mouth tasted sour, the contents of my stomach once again threatened to rise as my face turned prickling hot and my vision swam. _Oriana. Oren. No. _

"This cannot be." Even Mother had her hand to her mouth, disbelief on her face, and she looked lost for a moment. My mother with her regal features, the usual stern expression with no room for disobedience, all lost, as we both regarded the bodies in front of us.

"Why..." I choked on even one word.

"This was no simple raid," she concluded. "They are taking no prisoners."

"We must...we must find Bryce." She closed her eyes, seemed to pull strength from within as she straightened, attempted to swallow the grief that had overtaken her face. I followed the lead of my Mother, for I could not comprehend this. How these men could slaughter innocents, leave their blood to stain the stones. Oren, with only six years to his name...

"Thank the Maker Fergus left," Mother whispered as we left the room, closing the door behind us, as if we could shield them from whatever was coming, even though they were already welcomed by the Fade. There were small mercies to be found in this, that my brother did not have to witness the death of his wife and son.

These were hallways I had travelled many times, tumbling as a young child, Roddy behind me. Shrieking and playing a game of templars and mages, stepping out of Terrell's reach. We advanced together, mother and daughter and dog. We cut down whoever passed our way, strangers that we did not recognize, who had taken over our home. They wore emblems and colors that were not familiar to any estate. _Mercenaries_, and Mother agreed.

"You must not hesitate," she told me as we swept through the other chambers of this castle wing, where our family resided. These chambers were empty. "They will kill you, do you hear me, Elika?" I nodded.

The first man I fell looked half wild, like a chasind warrior in a burning wilderness, as he swung his buckler in a wide arc, to knock me aside. It was easy to slip in close and turn, just so...to slip the sharp point into the weakness connecting pieces of armor. I gave it a twist, made sure the wound would not close, and I felt wetness spill over into my hands. The man collapsed with a groan and my first kill smelled of emptied bowels, his surprise and his fear as I left him to die.

I looked for unprotected openings, the hollow of the throat or a slit that was a weakness. There was no victory in this hollow battle. It was only a bid for survival. Mother was right, they moved with intent, to strike a killing blow. I greeted another faceless knight as I ducked down and with a quick sweep, severed the muscles of his legs. His shield clattered to the floor and my eyes saw a familiar image, a coat of arms that showed this man as a soldier of Amaranthine.

_Howe_. One of Father's loyal friends, who attempted just the other day to invite me to his estate and schemed for my marriage to his son. I realized with a chill that these were his delayed men, striking when Highever was crippled by following the king's call.

"I thought him ambitious, but not capable of this sort of deception," Mother said softly, showing she recognized the implications of this revelation. It was the softness that alarmed me, for Mother was only soft around Father or in a rage.

All I saw was Oriana's face, her lips parted. I kept on recalling the blood that pooled underneath her, spilled from her slashed throat. Oren's small hands, palm up, warding away the bad men. I swung my arms and my weapons followed. My blades were an extension of my body; I felt the force of it ripple down my arm, my shoulder. I cut them open, because they killed a child, no matter how these grown men begged and pleaded, a part of me inside screamed. Why should I show them mercy? What mercy did they deserve, a coward's ambush, slaughtering sleeping children and their mothers in their beds?

--

We entered the Great Hall, and recognized our men. I could not help the low cry that left my mouth when I saw one man in particular, and they all turned towards us at the sound. I saw the shoulders of some men droop in relief and lowered their heads and murmured _teyrna_. But that one man approached us, bowed.

"My lady," Roddy spoke to me first, even though Mother was beside me. "We feared for the worst."

I wanted to reach for him. To just have him pull me close and bury my face against his neck, to sob, to tell him of all that I had seen tonight, even as I was covered in the blood and gore of many men.

"What has happened, Ser Gilmore?" Mother enquired.

"It was during second watch, lady!" One of the men spoke first. "They slipped in through the back, unnoticed. They must have amassed in the back courtyard while the young lord left for Ostagar."

"We closed the gate when we were informed of the attack," Roddy said gravely. "But what remains of the tower watch told us of the numbers that await us outside."

"How many?"

"Two or three hundred men surround the castle." The news were bleak for the all of our fates, for the forces left here only numbered a hundred men, most of them inexperienced stable boys or kennel hands, not seasoned knights or ruthless mercenaries.

"They will subdue you here and open the gates to let the outside men through," Mother concluded while the knights nodded, resigned to this knowledge.

"What of my father?" I asked.

"He passed through here not long ago," Roddy frowned. "He said he would head to the larder, in the hopes that the teyrna and you had attempted to leave the castle." There was a secret entrance from the larder to the outside, a hidden tunnel only known to the members of the household closest to the family.

"Was he injured?" Mother said anxiously.

"I do not believe so, teyrna."

"We will attempt to find the teyrn, but what of you, Roderick? And your men?" Mother's eyes swept over the ragged group of ten.

"We will hold them back as best as we can. Time is of the essence." He caught my gaze, and then looked away.

"You have to come with us," I blurted out, not understanding why he was avoiding meeting my eyes. "All of you." But the men shook their heads grimly.

"We have no hopes of getting this many men past them without detection. If we were here to provide a distraction while they enter the castle…"

"No." I grabbed his arm. "This is a death wish." He stared at the hand on his arm like he did not recognize it, and pulled away roughly. I stared at him, stunned.

"Thank you, Roderick," Mother said. "You and your men will not be forgotten."

"You cannot possible agree to this," I turned on her. "We are leaving these men to die!"

"All of you," Mother addressed them, looked to each of them in turn as she named them. "You are free to leave. You are all loyal servants of Highever, and your service ends here."

"Yes, lady," all of them murmured, but none of them moved towards the door.

"Roddy, come with me," I pleaded. "_Please._"

"Lady, I cannot." He closed his eyes as if he could not bear to even look at me for a brief instance.

"If you love me-" I began, but he finally looked at me then. His eyes were bright and shining and his face twisted in fury.

"Do not ask me to choose between you and my duty to Highever. Do _not_, Elika." My heart fell, a heavy stone that weighed my body, in the ways that the betrayal and the fresh blood of men on my hands did not. Because I knew what would win.

There was a sound at the door, and a man staggered in, footsteps weaving. There were arrows pointed out from his back, and when he looked up, I saw who it was: Ser Peter, the knight who trained me, who was left behind at the castle for the watch, my teacher and my mentor. As he fell, I rushed forward, attempted to catch him as he went on his knees.

"There is no time," he gasped. "You must leave." One of the soldiers joined me to help, lowered him to the ground. There were sounds approaching in the distance, shouting and the joining of weapons.

"May the Maker's bright blessing shine on you all," Mother curtseyed deeply, made it look graceful even in armor. "We are in your debt."

There were arrows that entered the air all of a sudden, fell short of our men, but others approached from the alcove, and rough hands grabbed me. I was pushed towards the door as the soldiers readied for another battle. I felt the brush of lips against my cheek.

"My lady…" His breathing was ragged. He pushed me, as I stumbled towards the open exit, looked back over my shoulder.

"I have loved only you," he told me, a confession that has never escaped our mouths, for we knew what consequences they brought. Those consequences seemed insignificant now, time slipping out of our careless hands. He looked as if he could be made into a portrait: the grim knight, the men behind him, dying. He pulled out his sword, and then he turned to join the battle, even as I screamed. Mother was pulling me and Eirik was butting his head against my leg, growling.

We fled for the larder, and I could not understand it. What Maker would allow men to turn on each other, even as they swore allegiance to the same king? Blood on my hands. Ser Peter's blood, mercenaries' blood, Howe's men. My legs were moving, but I saw nothing. Lurching forward in the darkness, all I heard was his voice.

_I have loved only you, Elika. I have loved only you. _


End file.
